


Finding Molly

by Raelynn



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, F/M, Kidnapping, Molly is a couple years younger, Parental Death, Unilock, but not really underage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-06-04 21:42:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6676444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raelynn/pseuds/Raelynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was spring school photo day.  Molly hated having her photo taken; she wasn’t practiced at the fake smiles that the other girls seem to do effortlessly. </p>
<p>However, school picture day was good because it got her out of class for an hour. There were classes she’d mind missing, of course.  Not science, or math, that would be bad. But getting out of a dreary day of Shakespeare, that was fine.</p>
<p>Molly glanced at a mirror and checked her hair again. The fashion lately was to keep it short; chin length, maybe to your shoulders, but she was proud of how long her hair was, and she continued to keep it long. Today the sides were pulled up in a clip, and she made sure it was neat. </p>
<p>She shifted forward in line as each girl took their turn climbing up onto the stage in the auditorium and seating themselves on the stool in front of the blue background. One by one they followed the instructions to smile, and soon it was Molly’s turn to sit down, face the camera, and try her best to approximate a realistic looking smile as the flash blinded her.</p>
<p>School picture day was also good because the police had a very accurate photo of what Molly Hooper looked like the day she went missing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Bored,” said Sherlock, flouncing into the sitting room of Mycroft’s house. He threw himself down on the sofa, glaring over at his brother who sat in a straight-backed armchair, reading the morning paper. 

Mycroft set down his tea slowly and turned to look at his wayward little brother. “You’re fresh out of rehab, you need some ‘boring’, little brother.” He picked his tea back up, glancing down at the paper in his lap. 

“Bored,” said Sherlock again, standing and pacing around the room. Mycroft watched him over his paper. 

Finally, having enough, Mycroft thrust the paper out towards Sherlock. “Here, read the paper, it’ll give you something to do.”

Sherlock spun around, scowling. “For about five minutes.”

“Sherlock,” said Mycroft in a warning voice. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and grabbed the paper, throwing himself back down on the sofa, laying with his feet up on the armrest. “Fine,” he said.

Mycroft sighed, and continued to sip his tea. Sherlock had been staying with him in London for two weeks, ever since he’d completed 60 days in rehab. In February he’d received a call from his university, saying that he was listed as Sherlock’s emergency contact, and could he please do something about his brother. It’s not that your brother isn’t brilliant, they’d said. He’s brilliant, and doing very well in his studies. But he’s gotten mixed up with the wrong sorts, and the drug use had gotten to a point that it could no longer be shoved under the rug. Sherlock would have to go clean up before he could return in the fall.

And so Mycroft had picked up his little brother on a Tuesday afternoon. He was high, collapsed in his small dormitory bedroom with a girl whose name Mycroft hadn’t bothered to learn. Off to rehab went Sherlock, into storage went all his belongings, and Mycroft had made some excuses to his parents that he was fairly sure they didn’t buy at all. The Holmeses were loving parents, but they were not blind to their youngest’s faults.

And so now it was April, and Mycroft insisted that Sherlock spend the summer supervised before returning to classes in the fall. To make sure he stayed on the straight and narrow.

Sherlock, of course, was doing his best to be a pain so that Mycroft would allow him to move back to their parents’ house. Mycroft knew his parents went too easy on him, and he’d easily be back into trouble if allowed to go.

Sherlock skimmed the headlines of the paper, trying to placate his brother. Perhaps he’d leave for work soon, and Sherlock could find some sort of experiment to get up to while he was gone. The house staff knew he wasn’t to leave, and although he could easily sneak out, Sherlock was holding off on that until he had a good reason to go. 

His eyes fell on a headline. “Local Girl Still Missing - Police Stumped.”

He skimmed the article. A seventeen year old girl had gone missing on her way home from school, and the police had zero leads. Her mother had put out frantic press releases, asking for anyone with any information to come forward. 

“Did you see this?” he asked Mycroft, pointing to the story. “Do you know anything about this missing girl?”

Mycroft looked over. “Yes, she seems to have disappeared without a trace. The family doesn’t have much money, and there’s been no ransom demands. Probably a runaway,” Mycroft shrugged and stood. “I’m off to the office. Stay out of trouble.”

“I always do,” said Sherlock.

Mycroft snorted and left the room.

Sherlock read the article again, and then stood and took the paper up to Mycroft’s home office. He turned on the computer in there, quickly connecting to the internet and going to Yahoo.com. Doing a search, he began to read articles about the girl’s disappearance. 

He scribbled down some notes as he went along. “Molly Hooper, student, no siblings, father deceased, gone three days.” 

Working on a hunch, he searched for her father’s name, and found his obituary. 

Robert Hooper, aged 42, passed away on Thursday, February 27th after a short battle with liver cancer. He is survived by his wife, Mona, and daughter, Molly. Funeral services will be held…”

Sherlock made some more notes and disconnected the call, shutting the computer back down. Well, this certainly gave him something to do. 

He spent the rest of the morning in the back garden, chain smoking cigarettes he’d managed to get from the gardener after he deduced the affair he was having with the maid, tossing the facts of the case around in his head and trying to see what he could piece together.

oOo

Molly woke with a screaming headache, which wasn’t surprising given that her last memory was of a very large torch being slammed into the back of her head. At least she thought it had been a torch.

She’d been walking to the bus stop from school, lost in thought as usual, mulling over a particularly tricky chemistry equation they’d been working on at school that day. When the car pulled up along side her, she glanced over.

A rather well put together older woman rolled down the window. “Excuse me, but do you know how to get back to the motorway from here? I seem to have gotten turned around.”

Molly stopped and looked around. “Um,” she said. “I think you have to go back that way.” She pointed back the way she had come from. “And then turn left.”

“I’m sorry, dear, my hearing isn’t what it used to be. Can you speak up, or come closer?”

Molly looked at her. She was alone in the car, so Molly didn’t think anything of stepping over to the passenger door. “I said I think you have to go back that…”

Before she could even finish her sentence, a man slipped up from the floor of the seat where he’d been hiding, out of sight from the angle she’d been at on the side of the road. He reached out of the window with both hands, one holding a rather large torch, and before Molly could do much more than turn around to flee, he’d slammed her in the back of the head with what she now realized was the torch.

Molly reached up and felt the back of her head. She could feel dried blood in her hair, but it seemed to have stopped at some point. 

She turned, trying to take stock of her surroundings.

She was on a mattress on the floor, in a windowless room. Looking down at the floor in the dim light, she realized she was in some sort of cellar, with a single bare bulb illuminating it from the center of the room. Other than the mattress, there was absolutely nothing else in the room. She stood, making her way around, looking for a ladder or some other way of getting out, but she found nothing.

After a few moments she sighed and sat back down on the mattress. She still had her clothing, although they’d taken her school bag. She had no idea what time it was; her mother had always been on her about not wearing a watch. “Figures,” she grumbled. 

With little more to do but wait, Molly pulled her knees up to her chest and tried not to cry.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know I haven't been writing lately - life has gotten pretty crazy for me. But here, have chapter 2 :)

Molly wasn’t quite sure when she’d fallen back asleep. Due to the nature of her confinement, she had no sense of day or night as it was, and thus had no idea how long she’d been asleep. She worried that she shouldn’t have been sleeping (did she have a concussion?) but she felt okay and stood again, looking around the room.

Someone had been in while she was sleeping. Her heart pounded at this. Not only was she being kept, she had slept soundly enough for someone to come in and leave a box. She peered into the plastic tote. Food. There was a large selection of ready-to-eat items: granola bars, nuts, some bananas, etc. She dug through the box and found five bottles of water at the bottom.

Sighing, she opened up the box of granola bars and, after looking over the wrapped bar for any tampering, gave up and opened it, shoving it in her mouth. She had no idea how long she’d been down there, but obviously long enough to work up an appetite.

She cracked open one of the bottles of water and took it back over to the mattress, where she sat, gazing around the room. There was clearly a way in and out, not only did they get HER in here, they’d delivered her some food.  
She sipped the water, looking around. There were clearly no doors in the walls, so there had to be some sort of trap door above her. After a few minutes she stood and made her way around the room, looking. Eventually, she saw the tell-tale changes in the wood ceiling. There. That’s how they were getting in and out. She saw no ladder, so they must be bringing something with them when they come. She set the water bottle down and dragged the mattress closer. If they came in again while she was sleeping, she wanted to be close enough that the movement would wake her.

If nothing else, she deserved to know who her captors were. She doubted the elderly woman who had been driving the car was the one who was climbing up and down a ladder into this cellar.

She retrieved the bottle of water and sat back down on the mattress, sipping it. There was little else to do but wait.

 

o0o 

“Mycroft, please! I want to help this family. It will give me something to do. Surely you know someone at NSY that could get me in to speak with the girl’s mother.”

Despite Sherlock’s active pleading, he was stretched out on a sofa in the sitting room, his large feet sticking out over the edge. Mycroft was sitting in a chair opposite. They made quite the pair of opposites. Sherlock’s hair was a tumbled mess, and the faded Pixies tee-shirt he was wearing over a pair of denim jeans looked out of place in Mycroft’s immaculate sitting room. Mycroft, of course, was in an excellently tailored suit, his tie only slightly loosened since he’d arrived at home to find his brother in a strop and reeking of cigarettes.

“Whether or not I have connections isn’t the point, Sherlock. You’re not going to swan off to save the day. You are a 21 year old recovering junkie and the last thing I need is for anyone I have any sway over to see you in this...state.”

He looked down his nose at his brother, who sat up, running his hands through his curls. “You need a bath. And some reasonable clothes. And to tell me who gave you the cigarettes so I can have them fired, immediately. You’re smelling up my sofa.”

Sherlock looked at him. “You do know you’re pushing 30, not 50, right?”

“Fuck off, Sherlock.” said Mycroft.

“There we go, that’s better.” Sherlock stood and stomped over to the doorway. “I’ll be in my room when you come to your senses. You KNOW I can help, Mycroft.”

He swept out of the room and Mycroft stared after him, sighing.   
oOo

Hours later, Molly realized she needed to use the bathroom. “Great,” she said, looking around the dark room again. “I suppose I’m going to have to go wee in a corner.” She stood, pacing around again, hoping they’d left her some sort of chamber pot or something.

No such luck. She glanced over at the tub her food had been delivered in, but she liked having it somewhat protected. She hadn’t seen any critters down here with her, but there were still bugs to worry about.

She circled around again, and finally walked over to where the trap door presumably was. 

“Hey!” she shouted. “You up there! I need to pee and I can’t imagine you’re going to just make me pee on the floor in here.”

She waited for a few moments, her eyes filling up with tears when she realized that yes, that was exactly what she was going to have to do.

She rummaged around in the tub and came up with no paper products at all, but a search of her pockets came up with a few rumpled tissues. She didn’t want to think about what would happen in regards to other biological issues. Hopefully they’d let her out of here before that.

Sighing, she picked the corner of the room farthest from her mattress, and did what needed doing.

oOo

Sherlock was stretched out on his bed, throwing a small ball against the far wall and catching it when it bounced back. He hoped the thump-thump-thump was driving Mycroft bonkers. The small scuffs and dents he was leaving on the wall made him feel better, at any rate. 

The door opened. Sherlock glanced over at Mycroft and threw the ball one more time, harder. “What?” he said, dropping the ball between the bed and the wall so Mycroft couldn’t try to take it away.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said. About needing something to keep you busy. And I think maybe you might be right. I have someone down at New Scotland Yard who is willing to fill you in on the details of the case and see what you think.” Mycroft leaned in the doorway. 

Sherlock’s face brightened and he sat up, opening his mouth to speak.

“But,” said Mycroft, “That’s it. He’ll let you look at the file and see if you see anything he missed. Kind of a...a consultation of sorts. But don’t think you’re going to go running off into the countryside investigating a crime.”

Sherlock closed his mouth. He knew Mycroft, and he knew if he pushed his luck, he’d get nothing.

“So,” said Mycroft, “Go take a shower. A LONG shower. And put on something that looks like you’re an adult.”

Sherlock scowled, but stood and headed to the en suite. “Thanks, Mycroft,” he called over his shoulder as an afterthought. “You won’t regret this!”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so we are introduced to some familiar faces, and some inept (or is it?) police work.

Against her better judgment, Molly eventually laid down on the mattress and tried to get some sleep. There was little else to do in this cellar, and with no windows she had no concept of time. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been down there. How long had she slept the first time?

She was awoken by the sound of a ladder being dropped from the trapdoor above. She jumped to her feet, backing away but not going too far. If she had a chance to escape, she didn’t want to miss it.

A man started climbing down the ladder. No - when he turned she realized he wasn’t much older than she was. He had dark hair and dark eyes and a face that made him look even younger. “Molly Hooper,” he said in a lilting Irish accent. We need to move you. You may have noticed there’s no bathroom facilities down here.”

He hefted the large torch in his hand. “Are you going to come quietly, or am I going to have to knock you out again? Too many clunks on that pretty little head can’t be good for you.”

“Who are you?!” said Molly, “What do you want with me? I’m nobody.”

“I’m sure you think that,” he said, advancing toward her. She backed up step by step, keeping the distance between them. “Now come on. Just go up the ladder. You’re tiny, but I’m not looking forward to having to carry you up. It was hard enough to get you down here. I told Ma it was a bad idea.”

“Your mother? Is that the lady who was asking for directions? What kind of evil mother helps her son kidnap a girl?”

“Enough TALKING!” Suddenly his entire demeanor changed. His eyes flashed with anger and Molly stepped back again, losing her footing and falling to the dirt. “Either get up the ladder or I’m going to come over there and knock the shit out of you again.”

Molly stood, tears brimming in her eyes. “I’m nobody,” she sobbed, slowly walking towards the ladder. “Nobody. I’m nobody.” She repeated this quietly, between sobs as she skirted around the young man and reluctantly began to climb the ladder. “Nobody.”

When she reached the top, she scrambled up onto a wooden floor. She realized she was in a barn of some sorts, and it was nighttime. She looked around and saw the woman from the car standing there, brandishing a gun. “Just wait til Jimmy gets back up,” she said. “Don’t move.”

Molly swiped at the tears rolling down her face. “Why are you doing this? I’m nobody, I’m just little Molly Hooper and you know that - he knows my name.” She looked down at the boy who was now climbing up the ladder. “What do you want with me?”

She looked around again, but there was nowhere she could escape to quickly, not with the woman armed and “Jimmy” almost out of the cellar. She wrapped her arms around her torso and continued to cry.

“Aww, Ma, you’re scaring the thing,” said Jimmy, coming up. He pulled the ladder out of the hole and slammed the trap door shut, making Molly jump. He walked over to where she stood, getting far too close for Molly’s liking. “She’s just a little tiny slip of a thing, she’s not going to get away from us.”

He reached out and ran a hand along her arm. Molly jerked away. “Don’t touch me you, you evil thing!”

She saw the anger flash in his eyes again, but he quickly tamped it down. “Molly, Molly. No one wants to hurt you. As soon as we get what we want, we’ll send your pretty little self back to your Ma.”

Molly’s eyes narrowed. “What can you possibly want? We don’t have anything! My father’s dead and we can barely afford to eat.”

“Hah,” spat “Ma”, “That’s a good one.”

“Shush, Ma, can’t you see she’s scared. She probably has no idea what her dear old Dad had been up to. But I’m sure her mother does. We just need to bide our time.”

With that, he pulled out a gag and a blindfold. “Now stand still. We need to get you out of the barn and to a safer location before daylight.”

He gagged her and tied the blindfold around her face, and then, with no other option, Molly let herself be led outside and into a car.

As far as she could tell, she was alone in the backseat of a large car. When the car slowed down, she lunged for where she assumed the doorhandles would be, but a quick pull showed her that the childlocks were activated - they couldn’t be opened from the inside.

“I’m not stupid,” drawled Jimmy. “Do you think I’d just let you pop on out of the car onto the street like an idiot?”

Molly wished she weren’t blindfolded, so he could see the glare she wanted to shoot him, but instead she just threw herself back against the seat of the car and quietly fumed. She couldn’t figure out any way to get away. They had a car, and a gun. Even if she managed to get out of the car, she didn’t think she could outrun Jimmy, and if she angered them enough, they were likely to just shoot her.

The continued down the road in silence after that. Molly silently cried, her tears soaking her blindfold. 

oOo

After Sherlock had showered and put on something Mycroft deemed acceptable (black dress trousers and a button-up shirt) they got into the back of a sleek black car, and Mycroft instructed the driver to take them to the Met.

“Mycroft, you really shouldn’t have a driver who is an alcoholic,” Sherlock said offhand. The driver glared at him in the rearview, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. “Although,” added Sherlock, “His drinking is under control enough that he’s not drinking during working hours. Functional alcoholic, probably fine.”

Mycroft elbowed him in the ribs. “Shut up, little brother. No one needs your “deductions”, least of all me. Nothing goes on with my staff I don’t know, I promise you.”

Sherlock shrugged, and scooted over closer to the window, looking outside. He hadn’t left the grounds of Mycroft’s house since he came out of rehab, and he missed his city terribly. He practically pressed his face against the glass, watching the people as they drove by. 

“Ugh, people,” said Mycroft, watching his brother’s fascination. “Whatever do you see in them? I’m dropping you off to meet Sergeant Lestrade, and then I’m headed to the Diogenes Club where I won’t have to deal with people.” Mycroft practically spit the world “people”. Sherlock rolled his eyes and looked back out the window. 

When they arrived at the station, they were met outside by this Lestrade. He was older than Mycroft, but not much. Sherlock pegged him for 35. Married, not happily, two children. A smoker, which Sherlock hoped to use to his advantage to get his hands on some more fags. 

“Greg, this is my little brother Sherlock. He wanted to “consult” on the Hooper case. He is fairly brilliant, so maybe he can see something in the case file you all missed, although I doubt it. He’s not to leave here, though. I’ll be back in a couple hours, or you can reach me at the Club and I’ll send the car for him. You might get tired of him long before then.”

Lestrade only nodded, and looked Sherlock up and down. Mycroft got back into the car, and it pulled back out onto the street.

“So, you’re Mycroft’s troublesome little brother,” said Lestrade. He’s talked about you.”

Sherlock scowled, and looked at Lestrade again. “Just how do you know my….you know what, on second thought, don’t answer that. I suspect I don’t want to know.”

A slight color tinged the cheeks of the older man, and he turned and pointed toward the door. “Let’s go inside. I’ve got the file pulled and you can take a look at it, but I honestly don’t know what you think you’ll find that we’ve missed.”

They started walking, and Lestrade continued. “She’s 17, the family is poor. Father was a mechanic, owned a small shop, but they never made much money from it. Her mother sold it when he died for a pittance, and they’ve been living on that while she tries to get on her feet and find a job. The girl is a good student, kind of a wallflower. We’ve interviewed her classmates, the transcripts are in the file. Honestly, we’re at a dead end. Literally, I’m afraid. There’s been no noise about ransom. I’m afraid it’s just a random kidnapping, and eventually a body is going to turn up. Shame.”

Sherlock listened intently, and soon they were in the small office Lestrade shared with several other people. He handed the file to Sherlock and pointed toward a small table in the corner. “I’ve got paperwork to do. Feel free to look it over, but remember, you’re only here because I owe your brother a favor. Behave. I’m told you often don’t.”

“Owing my brother a favor is never a good idea. You got off lightly,” said Sherlock, plopping down on the chair in front of the table. 

“We’ll see about that,” quipped Lestrade, sitting down at his own desk.

Sherlock spent the better part of an hour reading every word in the files. Pretty much everything Lestrade had told him was true. Her classmates said she was a little weird, but nothing stood out. She excelled in her studies, she kept to herself. Her mother had been a homemaker and was now struggling to support herself and her daughter. The small garage her father owned had turned only a small profit. 

“Did you interview any of the father’s business partners or anything?” asked Sherlock.

Lestrade, startled, looked up, “Whoa, Sherlock, I’d forgotten you were there you were so quiet. He had a couple of employees, they seemed to check out. There was a girl who answered the phones and did the paperwork, and another mechanic...oh, what was his name? Isn’t the interview in the file?”

Sherlock dug around through the folders and shrugged, “No.. there’s an interview here with a Lisa, looks like she was the one answering the phones, but I don’t see an interview with a mechanic.”

Lestrade stood and walked over, digging around in the files himself. “That’s so odd. I’m sure we sent someone to interview both of them.” 

“Can you remember his NAME at least?” said Sherlock. 

Lestrade thought for a moment. “I’m trying to remember who conducted the interview. It was one of the constables. The guys name...Oh, right - it was Conor Moriarty. I remember because I’ve got a nephew named Conor. It’s still weird that the transcript isn’t in there. I’ll have to look into that.”

Sherlock continued to look through the files until Mycroft arrived to collect him, but it continued to bother him that there were interviews with classmates of Molly Hooper who could barely remember who she was carefully logged in and placed in the file, but an employee of his father who lost his job when her father died was mysteriously absent. He resolved to do some of his own research when they got home.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it's been so long since I updated anything. The end of last year was pretty ugly for me, but I am attempting to get back on track with things. And I must say, this new series of Sherlock is helping getting me in a Sherlockian mood!

Molly estimated it was about 45 minutes before the car slowed to a stop. She heard the front doors of the car open, and a few seconds later the door near her opened and she was roughly yanked out. “Come on,” said Jimmy, grabbing her by the arm and leading her. “Get inside.”

They climbed a few stairs and then she could tell they were inside. They made a few turns she tried to memorize, and finally she heard a door close. Jimmy removed the blindfold from her.

Molly looked around. She was in a fairly well-appointed bedroom with a large bed, a dresser, a small desk and a vanity. An open door to the side led into a small bathroom. 

“The windows are locked from the outside, so don’t get any stupid ideas.” said Jimmy, watching her investigate her surroundings. “Get some sleep, it’s late. There should be something for you to sleep in in the dresser.”

With that he left the room, the door clicking ominously behind him as he locked it.

Molly checked it anyway. Yes, locked.

Sighing, she went into the bathroom. There was a small pile of flannels and a fluffy towel that seemed clean. Going back out into the bedroom she found an oversized nightshirt in the dresser drawer. Looking around the bathroom for any sort of camera or anything, she sighed and stripped down, turning on the shower. If nothing else, she could finally feel clean again after her time in the cellar.

Once she had showered and changed into the nightshirt, she crawled into the surprisingly-comfortable bed and fell into an uneasy slumber.

o0o 

Sherlock did some minor researching on the internet when he returned to Mycroft’s house. He couldn’t find anything about Conor Moriarty. This was going to take a bit more research than the Internet could provide.

“Mycroft, I need to go to the library,” said Sherlock, barrelling into Mycroft’s sitting room. Mycroft looked up from where he was taking his tea.

“The library?”

“Yes, the library. There was a mechanic employed by Molly Hooper’s father. Lestrade said that he was interviewed, along with the secretary, but his interview transcript is missing from the file. That seems questionable to me. But I can’t find any information on him.”

“The file being incomplete could be a coincidence,” said Mycroft, sipping his tea.

“The universe is rarely so lazy, brother.” said Sherlock, rolling his eyes. “Can I get your driver to take me to the library?”

“Unsupervised?” Mycroft looked at his little brother, who was practically vibrating with energy in the doorway. “Can you be trusted?”

Sherlock sighed. “I am a grown adult, Mycroft.”

“Legally,” said Mycroft. “You’re like an overgrown five year old. Go to the library. Be back by dinner, and I’m going to instruct Chet to go in with you to make sure you don’t duck out the back.”

Sherlock spun around and headed to find his shoes, tossing a “Thanks Mycroft!” over his shoulder as he fled.

Thirty minutes later he was back in the car on the way to the library. Chet came in with him and took up a spot near but not hovering over him, which he appreciated. He started with the newspaper microfiches. There was an article detailing a family feud between some Moriartys over a piece of land called “The Laurels”, but there was no reference to Conor Moriarty.

After an hour or so he had only come up with a home address for Conor Moriarty, and the library was closing. He turned and looked at Chet, who was leafing through a random book, looking extremely bored.

“Chet,” said Sherlock in his silkiest voice, approaching the man. “Can you do a man a favor?”

Chet set down the book and looked up at Sherlock apprehensively. He’d been working for Mycroft long enough to know how the Holmes brain worked. “I’m only supposed to bring you to the library and take you right home,” he said.

“Right, right, I know. My brother thinks because I had a small substance abuse problem than I’m a child that can’t be trusted to take a wee without someone looking over my shoulder, lest I have too much fun,”

Sherlock collapsed into the chair next to Chet, desperate to win the man over. “But really, those days are behind me and I just want to get through until fall and go back to school and get my life going again. Mycroft worries so much about me, but it’s just his overbearing nature.”

Sherlock grinned a wolfish grin at Chet, who knew all too much how much of a control freak Mycroft was.

“So, as you know, I’m trying to solve this Molly Hooper mystery, and I just found the home address of the mechanic that worked with her dad. The police were supposed to have interviewed him when she went missing, but the transcript isn’t in the file.”

Chet nodded. “I suppose you want me to take you over there?”

“Well, yeah,” said Sherlock, casting his eyes down in a gesture he hoped made him look young, innocent, and embarrassed to be asking such a favor. “I just want to take a peek around and see if there’s anything to see there.”

“Mycroft will have my hide if he finds out.” 

“Oh, but he won’t, and I’ll be quick - just a few minutes and then we’ll be back on the road again.”

Chet scowled, but finally said “Okay, okay. But like, five minutes. And no causing trouble.”

“Sure, sure,” said Sherlock, jumping to his feet. He handed the piece of paper he’d scribbled the address on to Chet, and they made their way out to the car.

Conor Moriarty’s house was in the middle of a small, nondescript block of flats in a rough looking neighborhood. Sherlock jumped out of the car, promising to only be a few minutes. He knocked on the door, working out a cover story, but no one answered the door. Scowling, he reached into an inner pocket and pulled out a set of lockpicks, letting himself into the house so quickly Chet didn’t for a minute realize where he’d gone.

The house was pretty average, with a living room and a kitchen on the main floor and two bedrooms upstairs. One appeared to be the bedroom of Mr. Moriarty and, one would assume, his wife, and the other one looked to belong to a son. Glancing around the room, Sherlock decided he was in his early 20s and still lived at home.

Something seemed off about the master bedroom, however, and Sherlock went back in. Glancing around, he realized that neither Conor Moriarty nor his wife had been home for weeks. Sherlock went back into the son’s room and gave it a closer look. No one had been at the Moriarty home in some time. Confused, Sherlock quickly made his way back downstairs and let himself out of the flat, making sure the locks turned behind him.

He slid into the car with Chet. “Okay, take me back to Mycroft’s. And thanks so much!”

When they got back to the house, Sherlock took himself up into his room to sort through the information he’d acquired today. 

The Moriarty family had enough money to be arguing over a piece of land with house on it, although Conor Moriarty didn’t seem to have any sort of claim on it.  
No one had been at Conor Moriarty’s house in weeks.  
Lestrade was under the impression that Conor Moriarty had been interviewed, but there was no transcript of the interview.  
Molly Hooper had been missing for weeks.

He sorted everything into his Mind Palace, thinking and turning all of this around, trying to figure out what his next move would be.

oOo

Molly had been in her room for 18 days. Now that she at least had windows she could see out of (Onto an expanse of land and some trees, no road in sight) she had a better idea of day and night. Either Jimmy or his mother brought her food twice a day, and they’d brought her a couple changes of clothes, and every couple of days they’d take her dirty things and return them, washed.

Everytime she’d try to ask them what they wanted or why she was there, they’d tell her to shut up, and scurry from the room.

After the first week, she’d begged the old woman to bring her some books or something to read. “If you aren’t going to let me out of here, at least give me something to do!” Somewhere in the house there must have been a library, because she was rewarded with a stack of classic novels. She spent her days working her way through them and trying to stay brave. Her captors had taken very good care of her, but she still had no idea what she was doing here.

On the morning of the 19th day, there was a scuffle and an argument outside her door. Molly slipped her book closed and moved over near the door as quietly as she could.

“Ma, she doesn’t KNOW anything. Her mother doesn’t know anything. We’ve been spying on her the entire time we’ve had her and she hasn’t made any move to retrieve any money or anything. We might as well just drive her out in the middle of nowhere and release her.”

Jimmy was practically pleading with his mother, and her next sentence revealed why, and chilled Molly to the bone. 

“She’s seen us. She could identify us. She can’t be let loose alive.”


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning, Mycroft was surprised to see Sherlock at the breakfast table, picking at some toast and drinking tea while scribbling into a small notebook. Mycroft came around the table and leaned over his shoulder. "What are you doing?"

Sherlock tried to wave him off, but Mycroft continued to stand behind him, hands clasped behind his back. There weren't too many people who could outstubborn Sherlock, but Mycroft could give him a good run for his money.

Sherlock slammed the notebook shut and tried to push back from the table, but was met with resistance from the man standing behind him. "Oh," said Sherlock, looking behind him. "Are you still here?"  
Mycroft rolled his eyes and sighed. "Yes, because I asked you what you were doing."

"Well, Mummy, I was trying to figure out how all the pieces of this Molly Hooper case fit together. Conor Moriarty left his family home some time ago. Then Molly Hooper was kidnapped. But Lestrade swears he was told Conor Moriarty was interviewed, but the tape and transcript are nowhere to be found."

Mycroft moved from behind Sherlock and took a seat at the table next to him. "So what do you think you should look into next?"

Sherlock looked up and exhaled a long breath. "Well, if it wasn't Lestrade who interviewed Moriarty, he would probably know who did." He stopped for a moment, eyes closing as he dug around in his Mind Palace.   
"Actually, I would assume the same person who interviewed the receptionist would have been in charge of interviewing the mechanic - Moriarty. But I don't know that for sure. I should call Lestrade."

Mycroft nodded. "Either the Moriarty interview was stolen, or it never happened at all. Now, there's a dozen reasons why Conor Moriarty hadn't been at home. Maybe he and his wife were having an argument and he was staying elsewhere. Or perhaps it's something more sinister. You, of course, are going to assume that it was the more sinister option, but don't overlook something simple to try to find something more complicated. Find out who was supposed to have interviewed Moriarty, and try to see if you can figure out why he hadn't been staying at home."

Sherlock stood, draining the last of his tea. "I'm going to go call Lestrade, he should be in by now, yes?"

Mycroft checked his watch, opened his mouth, and then frowned. "How should I know Greg Lestrade's schedule?"

Sherlock threw him a grin and fled from the room, headed to Mycroft's home office to use the phone.  
oOo  
Two phone calls later, Sherlock had discovered that yes, the officer who had been assigned to interview Lisa had also been assigned to interview Moriarty. Lestrade gave him his name and number, and Sherlock had called him. He said he had spoken to Moriarty at the garage, he had recorded the conversation as required, and he had no idea why it wasn't in the file. 

Sherlock paced the office. Where had Moriarty been? He wasn't at home, but after Molly's disappearance he had still been showing up at work. The shop had stayed open until Mrs. Hooper had secured a buyer, who had closed the shop until they could make some enhancements and hire their own staff.

Sherlock felt like the pieces should fit together some how, and it was just out of his grasp. There was a piece of information missing, and he felt like if he could find it, everything else would fall into place.  
oOo  
Molly Hooper spent the next morning curled up on the large bed, working her way through Treasure Island, which she hadn't read since she was a child. She hadn't heard anymore of the conversation between Jim and his mother. They'd moved away from the door, finishing their conversation as they walked down the hall, and their voices had quickly dropped out of her range of hearing.   
"I have to stay on Jim's good side," she told herself, closing the book and using her finger to hold her place. "He seems reluctant to kill me. I need to use this to my advantage."

It was Jim who brought her her lunch a few hours later. He came into the room and sat the tray down on a desk. "It's not much, but this house isn't really supplied for company right now. Or anyone."

Molly tried her best to smile at him. "Isn't this your home?"

"I wish. Da said it should have been ours, but he fell out of favor with his parents years ago. His brothers are fighting over it right now."

"Family troubles can be so frustrating," commiserated Molly, stepping over to the desk and picking up the bowl of oatmeal. "So no one's living here at the moment?"

"No, --" with a start, Jim realized he probably shouldn't be talking to Molly, and closed his mouth. "Anyway, eat up. Ma's almost done here and once she finishes what she came to do I don't know what is going to happen next."

Before Molly could ask what he meant by that, he was out the door, and she could hear the key turning in the lock again.

She choked down the oatmeal and returned to her book. She had no idea what else to do, but she had gotten Jim to talk to her a little bit. She could maybe build on that.  
oOo  
One bribe later, Sherlock and Chet were in the car again, headed to the closed Hooper's Garage. "Your brother is going to have my skin if you get caught," warned Chet as they pulled around the back of the garage. "Five minutes. You better be back here in five minutes."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and slid out of the car, quickly making his way to the back door. Thirty seconds later he had the lock picked, and he was inside.

Although it was mid-day, very little light made it into the small cramped back office of the garage. Sherlock scanned the room quickly. Utilitarian metal desk with a computer, one of those miserable plastic covers over the keyboard to try to keep the worst of the oil and gunk from the mechanic's hands off of it. He quickly opened the two drawers and rifled through them, finding nothing of consequence. He turned to the four drawer filing cabinet next to the desk and pulled out Conor Moriarty's employee file.

Sherlock flipped through the pages. Moriarty had worked for Hooper for about five years. He received a small raise each year, and there was nothing in the file to indicate Hooper had been unhappy with Moriarty's work. He shoved the file back into the drawer and kept digging around. 

"Ah!" he said, pulling out a register. Hooper had been an old fashioned guy, and despite the computer on the desk, he'd done the financial record keeping for the shop on paper. A quick glance showed everything in order, but as he flipped through the unused pages of the book, a folded piece of paper fluttered out. Sherlock stooped to pick it up, and opened it. 

Sherlock's eyes went wide and he shoved the paper back into the book, put the book back into the cabinet, and was back outside and into the car in a flash. "Take me to the police," he said to Chet.

"As you wish," said Chet, and they were off again.

Sherlock went flying into Lestrade's office, a receptionist trailing him, spouting apologies and how he hadn't listened when he told her to wait. Lestrade looked up from where he'd been reviewing a file, and sighed.   
"He's fine, I know him." 

The receptionist shrugged and turned, making her way back to her post.

"Someone was skimming money from Hooper's Garage," said Sherlock, not waiting a moment longer. "I found a piece of paper where Hooper had added up some numbers multiple times and came up with negative 50,000 pounds."

Lestrade knitted his eyebrows. "Found where?"

"Um, in the register book. In the office. Um, of the garage."

Lestrade ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. "Did you just confess to breaking and entering to me?"

Sherlock threw himself down on one of the chairs in front of Lestrade's desk. "Nope," he said, popping the P. "I just suggested that you might want to take a look in the office of Hooper's garage if you hadn't already."

Standing up, Lestrade reached for his coat and keys. "Well," he said to Sherlock. "Are you coming with me?"

Sherlock was on his feet and behind him in a heartbeat. When they got outside he said "Wait!" and ran over to the car where Chet sat, waiting. "Go on home. I'll get Lestrade to take me back. Mycroft won't get mad if I'm with him."

Chet didn't seem convinced, but he started the car and headed back to Mycroft's home regardless. Sherlock bounded over to where Lestrade was waiting next to his car. "Well, get in," he said. 

As they drove, Lestrade pulled a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket. "Mind if I smoke?"

Sherlock reached for the pack. "Only if you don't share."

Sherlock and Lestrade searched the office for any other clues after Sherlock showed him the note. Lestrade tagged the note and the register book as evidence. "I'll have someone go through the books and see if they can figure out where Hooper found this discrepancy." They didn't find anything else useful, and soon enough they were back in Lestrade's car, headed to take Sherlock back to Mycroft's. "What do you think all this means?"

Sherlock had been rolling everything around in his mind for a while. "I think that Hooper thought Moriarty was embezzling from him. Once he'd gotten sick, he had probably turned over the day-to-day running of the garage to his employee. At some point he'd taken a look at the books and discovered something was amiss, but he may have gotten too sick to do anything about it or dig further."

"So what's this got to do with Miss Molly Hooper?"

Sherlock sighed. "That's what i don't understand. Mrs. Hooper sold the garage, Moriarty's long gone, and his family too, and NOW the girl turns up missing?"

"Maybe someone thinks Mrs. Hooper has something to do with it. " Lestrade said after a while, turning into the driveway of Mycroft's large home. "Maybe someone thinks she has the missing money."  
"There were no ransom requests for Molly Hooper?" said Sherlock.

"No. We've kept an officer at the house since she was reported missing just in case, but nothing but radio silence. There's lots of people who think she's just a runaway and we're all wasting our time, but her mother insists she'd never."

Lestrade stopped the car. "Well, if you think of anything else, let me know. I'll see what we can make out of this," he pointed to the register book in the evidence bag. "Don't let your brother get too mad at you. If you want, tell him I picked you up today to go to the garage with me."

"Thanks!" said Sherlock, jumping out of the car.

"No problem, kid," said Lestrade under his breath as he put the car in reverse and headed back to work.  
oOo  
Sherlock shouldn't have worried. Mycroft wasn't home yet. Sherlock took himself out back into the garden and lit one of the cigarettes he'd stolen from Lestrade when he hadn't been paying attention. He paced the garden, trying to fit this new evidence together. Fifty thousand pounds was missing from the books of Hooper's Garage. Hooper had found out about it at some point. Moriarty was missing, Molly Hooper was missing. Mrs. Moriarty and their son were also missing, and he had no idea if all the Moriartys were together or not.  
He stubbed out the cigarette and ran into the house, reaching into his pocket for Mr. Hooper's business card, which he'd grabbed from a stack on the desk. It had his home phone number on it. 

The phone was answered on the second ring. "Hello?" said a worried voice.

"Mrs. Hooper?" 

"Yes, this is she." 

"Hello, I;m an officer working with Greg Lestrade on the case of your daughter. I'm going through the file right now and I see here that you haven't received any ransom notes regarding your daughter?" 

"Not as such," said the voice .

"What do you mean by that?"

"I got a call from a lady asking about my profits from the garage. I asked her if she meant the money from the sale, and she acted very strange. She mentioned Molly being missing. She never exactly asked for money, but it was a very strange call."

"Did you tell the police?"

"At the time I was so flustered and the woman had just seemed idly curious about Molly and everything's been so awful I'm just not sure, Officer."

"Did you receive any money from the shop other than the sale money? Was there any sort of large payment, or did your husband start bringing hoe more money than expected recently?"

"No. I mean, even after he couldn't work anymore he still drew a salary, but I think as owner that's only reasonable. Conor and Lisa were running things and as far as I could tell, fairly well."

"Hmm," said Sherlock noncommittally. 

"Is there anything else, Officer? It's been another long, stressful day and I just want my Molly back. You are looking for her, aren't you?"

Sherlock softened his voice, "Mrs. Hooper, we're doing everything we can to get your Molly back."

"Thank you," she said, before hanging up the phone.

Sherlock stared at the phone for a while. Either Mrs. Hooper was covering up the embezzlement even with a missing daughter, or she had no knowledge of any funny business at the garage. He decided to try to talk to some of the Moriarty neighbors the next day, and settled down with a book to wait for Mycroft to get home, so he could continue his ongoing quest to annoy him enough to let him return to their parents' for the rest of the summer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I've been so slow about writing. I could give all the usual excuses but I'll just apologize. Hope you liked this update!!

**Author's Note:**

> Will I regret attempting another casefic? Only time will tell. :)


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